*slaps both my hands on the table* in sick of pretending I don't wanna peg thrawn. That's it. Do i know it might never happen? Yes. Do I care?? No! I wanna pin the kinky blue man under me on his desk facing a window and wreck his shit. I don't want that man to walk right for a month after I'm done with him. You know what the worst part is? I'd like to hold his hands behind his back while I do it.
Y'know what?? Hell yeah! Good for ya!! And you know what else? I bet he’d let you, at least once.
He’s a dom, yes, BUT his sense of experimentation and attitude of “Don’t knock it ‘til ya try it,” holds priority, and by the gods you haven’t tried that yet. And you definitely, totally should try it.
I had a sad dream about maul, we were hunting him for (I think it was the Jedi?) But I didn't want them to catch him and Savage so I kept trying to get a warning out without letting the other Jedi in on it even though I knew if it worked I'd never get to see maul again... I woke up a wreck.... T-T he seemed so startled that I'd help him he almost didn't take my advice/warning he and Savage nearly died T-T
Even in your dreams you guys are tryin’ to hurt my boy Savage ?? The heck!
Well, as the self appointed God of AlienLover Dreams, I declare that both Maul and Savage escaped… It was narrow, but you managed to succeed. Still, he left you with a small promise. Maul isn’t one to give up, not if it kills him. He swore before he left, he will return for you, if only you give him time, if only you can manage to leave the order. This is not the end, but merely the beginning.
I'm so fucking tired of everything rn, i just want to go off into the mountains and just exist for a while. That being said I don't want to go alone, which of all of our boys is coming with me?
Ohhhh my gosh yes I miss the mountains… Misty mornings, creaky wood floors, that very specific smell…
I would say… either Feral or Maul.
For Feral, that is the dream! Going up there, finding some small getaway to spend a week (or two) at, waiting out cloudy bouts of rain under cramped umbrellas, or behind the big window in your bedroom with warm tea in your hands… And little walks through forest paths, finding so many creatures that turn their heads to look at you, watching your approach before skidding away at the last second. Plus, Feral loves birds, so this is perfect for him!
Maul would absolutely love going up with you. A big getaway? Just the two of you? In a remote, beautiful location in a pretty house he’ll probably end up buying? Sign him the hell up! It’s an absolute win! And you know, it may become slightly addicting, a trip he longs to take often, when he no longer wants to be in the presence of his work. There’s something he loves, something familiar about the quiet nature in these mountains, the soft light filtered through trees, the life that surrounds the both of you no matter where you may be. It never really gets old, so you’ll be pleasantly surprised when you hear of his love for your trips… as well as a recent purchase of the cabin you favoured most. Why not, right?
#it's dangerous to go alone! Take this! *hands you a boyfriend*
What are the nightbrothers like when they’re sick?
Oh gods not the illnesses!
At first, Maul absolutely insists that he isn’t sick. No way, no how, he’s stronger than that, more powerful than any illness that could attempt to harm him. He will be burning up, and still arguing that you’re mistaken. This may go on for hours. Except… suddenly he feels weak… he’s exhausted… Oh dear, oh darling, Starlight, he’s dying, suffering, tell his tale once he’s gone from this world… avenge him…
This continues for days, and at some point, you feel his forehead, frowning, saying that he doesn’t have a fever, so he shouldn’t be feeling so awful still… But with a single quick movement, he’s grabbed you and pulled you into bed at his side, holding to you like a pillow, yet still swearing that he’ll be ill for another week.
Savage simply… doesn’t acknowledge it. But you always know when a cold is on its way based on how long he sleeps in. Now, he isn’t exactly much of an early riser, that’s for certain, but he never sleeps in this long unless he’s starting to get sick. He fidgets awake ever so slightly by the cold washcloth you put on his forehead, and assures that he’ll be up soon enough. But you deny him this, making him swear that he won’t get up, that he’ll let himself rest no matter what. He never really argues with you, besides the occasional, “If anything happens…” that you’ve learned to ease with promises of your safety.
He feels incredibly guilty each time this happens, though, hating how much more work this adds to your life. But you assure him that it’s no burden… though he’s certainly free to pay you back later if he really insists…
Feral will. not. stay. down. It seems like every time you make him lay down and rest, he just gets right back up and goes to find something to do. He feels like he has to help you constantly, and laying around to rest keeps him from giving help you need. You have to reiterate that the longer he stays on his feet and overexerts himself, the longer he’s going to be sick and weak, and unable to help you in meaningful ways. And after a few moments of wide eyed pouting, he agrees solemnly and returns to bed.
He’s lonely. Go lay with him for a bit.
Now he’s happy.
#sorry this took a sec to write my wrists are acting up again
Does Maul believe in the balance of the force? Or is he keen on slanting it towards the dark side?
Ooooo now that’s a pretty neat question!!
So. By nature, the meaning of “balance” in the Force is different for all who hear it. For some of us, balance with in the Force can be taken to mean “an even number of those following the path of the Light Side as well as the Dark Side.” Meanwhile, for the Jedi, the Light Side of the Force by itself is balance, as they believe that the Dark Side is the embodiment of chaos, and therefore cannot serve or create balance no matter what. Sith, on the other hand, pay no heed to the concept of balance at all.
Now, taking a look at Maul, who is neither Jedi nor Sith at any meaningful point in his life, knows that balance is A) something that does, in fact, exist, and B) is a state that is attainable. Maybe not to him, but for many. That’s pretty obvious based on his last conversation with Obi-Wan, asking whether or not Luke is the Chosen One. The Chosen One prophecy is explicitly reliant on that person bringing balance to the Force.
Ultimately though? I don’t think he cares. Not while he was alive and kicking, at least. He simply seeks to survive, to move forward from where he is and secure his place in the galaxy, however long that may take. His movements toward Ahsoka had nothing to do with Light or Dark, only keeping his enemy out of power. His movements toward Ezra had nothing to do with adding another dark sider to the roster or taking a Jedi out of the playing field, only companionship and another chance at a connection he lost a long time ago. Compare this to Sidious, whose every move is power based, wanting to find more and more powerful apprentices, to overtake the Galaxy in darkness. And compare this to the Jedi, whose every move is driven by the Light Side, a need to keep darkness from every part of the Galaxy no matter the cost.
So the short answer is, yes, he believes in it, he believes it exists, and is likely inevitable. But does he have any interest in playing a hand in it? No. Not a chance.
Remember way back when when you drew that picture of Thrass as I think the lead singer of a band???
May I have some headcanons about this band au???
Ahahah oh yeaahhh it was really bad and I deleted it out of pure embarrassment I’m pretty sure! But yes, I do have those, because I… have no life apparently
So… I somehow enjoy the thought of him being a bass guitarist, as well as a singer. A lot of what he plays in this scenario is bass-heavy, and borders on rock. It’s full of energy and serves as an outlet when he needs to blow off the pressure of real life.
All of his music is relatable, things he lives day in and day out, feelings that he’s never had the courage nor the luxury to tell anyone else. Though people ask every so often how he does it, how he creates the stories he tells, to which he replies simply, “I don’t.”
Yes, there’s a fanbase. It’s small, but powerful. The people that like his work like it a lot… as well as him. They swear by the idea that he’s dreamy, no matter how many times he tries to promise them that he’s absolutely not.
Now, just because he is mainly the bassist, doesn’t mean he can’t play anything else. Oftentimes, he’ll spend a good bit of the songs on the keyboard or piano, perhaps even the drums if he’s feeling adventurous.
Now, his style… it’s about what you’d expect from this type of band. He never quite shrugged off the burgundy, which shows itself in forms of accessories besides his small gold ones, as well as the occasional shirt beneath leather jackets. And of course, there’s dark, torn denim, boots designed for colder weather than he actually wears them in… perhaps some aviators.
In reality, for him, a lot of it is about the energy he carries, that beautiful line he walks between masculine and feminine, both on and off the stage, that makes everything he does so compelling. He’s not famous, but he’s hard to miss, and the charm alone pulls people to him and his music.
Warnings: A child, allusions to death, Thrass has another painful moment
Word Count: 3268
“No.” Even with the single word, Thrass’s thick accent seemed to stand him even further apart from the others, arms crossed over his chest and voice harsh as he stands his ground. The holotable sets a slight glow on his face. What was meant to highlight his features instead showing only scars and paleness he would have traded his life to hide. Caught in the midground between recovery and death, even after so long. You never quite knew the reason. “Don’t think I don’t know coercion when I hear it.”
“It isn’t ‘coercion,’” Hera replies in her most earnest voice. She turns to you, Thrass’s sudden coldness putting you off for a moment. She speaks in an almost pleading tone, one that you can’t help but wonder is a mask over remaining distrust. She had been gracious, that much you had been thankful for. But it was hard for her to look at Thrass, still. He knew it, too. “If anything happens to him up there, we need you to be with him to straighten it out. I can’t put the squadron in unnecessary danger if he’s not stable.”
“I’m not unstable,” Thrass hisses, shoulders arched slightly back. Hera’s eyes dodge to him, and back to you.
Though you glance at your husband, your attention ultimately turns downward. You want to agree with him, want to support him. But you don’t want to lie, either. “I… I can’t leave Themis,” you said finally.
Behind you, the young girl laughs as she tries to make her small doll float the way Ezra shows her. “Like this,” he says, placing the soft object in his palm and raising it through the force. It tilts and turns in place, before lowering once more. And just as he did, she holds out her hand, where he rests the toy for her. For a moment, it raises slightly. A pause, a second where Themis’s face softens, from concentration and furrowed brows, to relaxed eyes and a newfound gentleness. Suddenly, you hear Ezra, his bright shout of “YES!” almost enough to pull your thoughts to them instead. Almost.
“She’ll be alright with Ezra,” Hera insists, as if he had just proven her argument. “He’ll be there to protect her if anything goes wrong-”
“That’s not the point,” Thrass cuts in. So rare it is that he bares his teeth this way. “It’s one thing to put me at risk, but another issue entirely when you attempt it with my family. I won’t have you guilt-tripping-”
“I’ll do it.” And when he turns to you, lips set slightly apart, you don’t return the look. “But just this once, if only to prove to you that you can trust us. If this goes off without an issue, you have to let him fly the next missions alone, or with me in a separate ship.”
Hera sighs, closing her eyes. “Alright. It’s a deal. But if anything goes wrong, I expect it to be reported, understood?” She accepts your nod, shutting off the holotable and addressing the rest of the squadron. “If there are no more questions, everyone get in position. We leave in ten.”
And when you’re left alone, Thrass doesn’t move to the ship. His expression is tight, narrow, more solemn than angry, yet directed forward, as if he were thinking of something else entirely.
“How much of that was true?” he asks, an attempt to keep himself from coming to the conclusion that tugged at his chest. “How much… do you really trust me?”
You hesitate. “Thrass… you know what happens sometimes. She’s… right, at least a bit. I don’t want you to be alone up there if…” Even now, it’s difficult to imagine. You’ve been through it once already.
“And what’s the alternative?” he asks, the braid you’d given him falling from his shoulders to his back as he turns. “Let’s say you’re right and I falter again. The same happens, except you’re there with me? I fall apart and crash, except I kill you, too?”
“Or I keep you from dying.”
“Once. How many more times will it take? How many more missions can you follow on where you’ll have to take over, because I wasn’t strong enough to keep going? How many times will I have to go out and put you at risk simply by virtue of being unreliable? I would rather leave Themis with one parent than-”
“I couldn’t return to my work, ch’acah. I-I’m… I’m not…” His shoulders tighten, a slight shake in his lower lip. Enough pretending. “I’m not the same. Please… Please let me do this, let me prove to you that I’m still worth something… even if… even if I’m not what you wanted me to be.”
Far off, someone calls your names. But you move just as slowly, just as carefully with his hands, which had so long ago helped you fall in love with all of him, embracing them in your own with a kiss placed on the backs. “You’re still worth the world, Thrass,” you whisper to him. He doesn’t quite relax. “You’re not measured by what you do… you said it yourself, you changed. That isn’t a bad thing, and it didn’t ruin you.”
Without warning, he feels small arms around his waist, tight, excited by even the smallest things. “Father!” Themis all but shouts, gazing up at him with wide eyes. In a mere instant, it’s as if the conversation had never happened, a sudden smile on his face as he kneels down to his daughter. Once, she would never have considered showing him an accomplishment with such pride, yet now, he’s the first thought on her mind. For that, he couldn’t possibly be more grateful. “I can use the force now, just the way Ezra showed me, I just have to stay calllllm… and things float! Can I be a Jedi now?”
A Jedi? His face falls, only a split second. You know who he sees. After all this time, you wish you had found her.
“You can be… anything you want to be,” he nods, releasing the small breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
“I guess they say the same about you, right?” Ezra says, a slight smile as he follows behind Themis. Of all the people here, it still amazes you how he is the calmest, the most content with Thrass. He speaks to him now as if he were a friend, and to a point, you suppose they are. “I heard you took my job. Don’t be too good at it, or I’ll have Chopper shock your ankles again.”
“I will disassemble that droid of yours someday,” Thrass says flatly, yet one of his eyebrows lifts as he watches Ezra from the corner of his eye. He turns back to Themis, who clutches her doll, slight sadness taking the place of excitement.
“How long will you be gone…?” she asks.
“Not long, little one,” Thrass promises. “Don’t be scared, we’ll never leave you, you know that?” She hurries forward, clutching Thrass’s neck, almost seeming as if she’d never release him. The kiss you place at the top of her head is met with a tight hold to your sleeve, the same way she did each time she began to cry. A part of you wonders whether this is a child’s anxieties, or a Jedi’s instinct.
Guiding her back, Ezra holds her small hand. She calms, at least for now, Ezra’s sympathy, and perhaps a memory, passing through their small connection. She isn’t alone, not really. And with thanks, you follow Thrass to the ship, both of you turning beneath the overcast sun as Ezra calls back, “Good luck on the mission, alright?”
“It’s simple recon. There’s no luck to be had,” Thrass replies.
“Yeah. They always say that.”
The words linger as you enter the ship, in both your mind as well as your husband’s, and silence hangs over your heads as you prepare to leave.
“You can still get out of this,” he says, voice small. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Whatever happens… happens to both of us.”
“Thrass.” He turns at your call. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
He leans to your touch on his cheek. “I do. Until the stars burn out.”
The small number of squadron ships take off, one by one, their practised formation working at your sides, your own ship taking the front lines beside the Ghost. A deep breath, and Thrass continues forward, Hera’s voice coming through the comms.
“Simple in and out, we identify what and who we’re up against before circling back through the established set of coordinates, got it?”
“Understood,” Thrass says, eyes cast dutifully forward. The jump to hyperspace, thankfully, is simple, despite your fidgeting, soothed for a moment by a slight brush to your leg. And the lines of light cast from the console begin to fall away as the ship slows, the scene before you turns from emptiness, meeting you instead with… no.
Combat. An ambush? Already? Shots only barely miss the edge of the ship, causing Thrass to swerve from his position. Not far off, that same, single venator remains in place, the one ship you never wanted to see.
“Justice,” the comms say, a slight glitch from strain as they work to maintain the connection. “Come in, we have to leave, now.”
Thrass may as well be working three times as fast as he usually does, eyes darting from monitor to monitor, control panel to windows, watching pursuers and those likely to join the chase. “This wasn’t the deal, Ra’Syn,” he shouts, falling into old habits. Yet she heard enough familiar syllables to know who he was speaking to.
“I know,” she admits. Thrass makes another sharp turn, pulling up quickly, increasing speed so as to bypass those that flew at his side. And with a swift movement, he jerks the controls around, spinning the ship on an axis to point the nose the opposite direction. In tandem, you fire the front blasters, taking out two ships in the process, before he continues his ascent.
“This ship isn’t made for this,” he says to Hera, who seemed to be dealing with her own issues across the battlefield, if visuals told you anything.
“Then abort the mission,” Hera all but orders. You hear something crash on the other end. “We’ll handle this.”
You pull a lever, redirecting power to the thrusters. “You say that like it’s easy.”
Thrass pushes down, leading two tie fighters to crash into each other. Already his hands begin to ache, a slight shake in each finger, yet he knows he can’t afford to slow, making a small noise when his path is blocked by a duo of ships that waste no time in shooting straight for you. He diverts forward, only just now realising how close the Venator had come, your own ship passing under the monstrous figure. And as you do, Thrass looks upwards, if only for a moment, eyes taking in an all-too familiar symbol.
Another sharp turn. Another.
“He’s speaking to them directly.” Thrass’s voice is cold. To avoid what is to come is now impossible. Your move should have been made long ago, and with a nearly mournful expression he adds, “He’s luring.”
You watch as Thrass only starts to shake further. “But… he tried that last time, why would he…”
“Yes, and it nearly worked. He’s… he’s learned from the last time, and-”
From below, a trio of Tie Fighters block your way, barreling towards your ship, shocking Thrass and sending his direction to the right side, clipped by the furthest fighter, and jolting the ship straight through the Star Destroyer’s docking bay. Hera’s attempt at another transmission sputters out and leaves you with nothing but the sound of static, while Thrass’s curses ease, yet replace themselves with panting and a grip on the side of his head.
One problem at a time.
“We’re okay, we’re okay,” you say to him, albeit a bit rushed, leaning over from your chair to him, wishing there was something to be done, your heart managing to find the energy to ache.
“We can’t be here,” he urges, muttering to himself, holding even harder at his head. “We can’t be here, he's… he'll…”
The entrance. Footsteps, heavy and metallic on the grated floor. Each one comes with dread, a measurement of how long until the worst arrives. As Thrass’s hands lower, the impact you expect… never comes. Instead, a voice orders simply, “Come with us,” in a nearly robotic tone, the only hint of humanity being the slight twang of an outer rim accent lying beneath the helmet’s filter.
When you glance to Thrass one last time, he’s rigid, eyes shut entirely, pained expression slipping away. And when he opens them once more, it’s gone entirely. His attention turns smooth, straight posture and glances sharp enough to cut steel, lips pressed together as he returns your gaze. Had it not been for the remaining scars, the slight hollowness, you might have even believed he had returned to who he was when you met him. Yet even this, you hadn’t believed had survived the crash. For so long, it had seemed that the Syndic was dead.
He stands, easily, and with a hand outstretched for you to take, leading you out behind the soldiers in white armour. For a moment, you’re taken back, the galas, the meetings, lead down halls towards wide ballrooms, before you grew too nervous and stopped in your tracks. Each time, his facade would drop, and he would turn back with his hands on your shoulders, offering a kind, warm smile. “Don’t worry, ch'acah,” he would say, “I’m right here with you ”
“Thrass,” calls a voice instead, as your husband steps out. He recalls a similar time. His name is even said the same way. How then, could it feel so mocking this time?
Thrawn stands ahead, hands clasped behind him, head tilted up as he watches his brother step forward. And Thrass, in turn, looks just as forward, walking with the confidence of someone who belonged there, ignoring the blasters pointed at your backs. He gives a squeeze at your hand, managing, despite it all, to make you feel less alone.
“How long has it been?” Thrawn asks, once Thrass approaches the space less than a meter away. “I admit, when I first saw your ship, I thought it might have been thieves, perhaps another member of the family. But of course, your flight pattern hasn’t changed, no matter how much you yourself have. Now tell me, where, exactly, did you run to, after narrowly escaping our forces last time?”
“You haven’t changed so much, either,” Thrass says cooly, dismissing the question as he had done so often with Syndics long past. “You still talk more than father liked.”
Thrawn stares, a single count, another, and finally, the hint of a smile behind those eyes. “Separate them.”
Aggressive hands pull your shoulders backwards, fighting against you as you lean forward, hand torn from Thrass’s grasp. And across from you, the mask has fallen, panic clearer than his own face painted over distorted blues. He fights just the same, the warning he wishes to give his brother as he says, “Thrawn,” sounding more like beginning through short breaths.
He gestures to you. “That one to a cell.” He points to Thrass. “This one to my quarters.”
Screaming does nothing, neither does your pulling, nor the terrified look Thrass gives before his back is forced to turn.
He won’t look at Thrawn, who walks not too far away, not even when he’s pushed to his knees at the floor of Thrawn’s office, masks of conquered territories lining the shelves, eyes staring through him in judgement for misgivings he had no hand in. The hands of the troopers behind him fall from his shoulders, though leave his wrists in restraints before they disappear.
“Your allegiance changed rather quickly,” Thrass accuses, eyes following the soles of Thrawn’s boots as they step to his desk, crossing casually as he leans against the front edge.
“My allegiance remains to the Ascendancy,” says Thrawn. “Merely… detoured. You, however, no longer bear any connection to our people, despite how much you tried to protect them.”
“Oh? So you’ve denounced them, then?”
“What happened to you?” Thrass looks up, loose strands of hair falling over his face. No matter how many lights stand in the office, the space may as well be overshadowed by a starless night. Thrawn says nothing. “You were a protector, someone who disobeyed every order to save people, who risked everything to do what was right. I heard everything you’ve done, everyone you’ve hurt, killed just to prove a point. When did everyone else’s lives suddenly mean so little to you?”
“Such things,” Thrawn began all too quickly, catching himself and returning to his calm state, “Did not… serve Commander Vanto well. You of all people should know this.”
Ivant. Thrass had spoken to him but once before, and simply in passing. The man, still not quite accustomed to the mechanic leg he had been given, mentioned an old accident, an occurrence he was certain was unavoidable. Thrawn, it seems, did not share the same sentiment.
“A merciful nature is an oversight to true threats,” Thrawn continues, a slight hiss to his voice in time with the memories that still plague his mind. “A lesson, one I have learned from my misstep, is against underestimating the tricks of your enemy, the ways they take advantage of such things as kindness and mercy.”
“Threats…” Thrass almost laughs. “And your ‘threat’ now is, what? Those beyond Csilla? The handful of rebels you so desperately chase? What is this really, brother? Following orders, or proving that you’re competent, that you’re an asset to these people, who will use you until you’ve nothing left to give, and when you beg them to send help back to your home planet the way they promised, they will turn their backs on you and leave you with nothing but a destruction that you brought upon us.”
Shuffling sounds of Thrawn’s uniform is all that fills the room. He watches his brother, steady, piercing into him, a gaze that Thrass returns. Thrawn’s hands tighten ever so slightly on the opposing sides of his white sleeves, crossed arms stiff as Thrass’s goading looms in the space between them. And Thrass’s face falls when his captor speaks once more.
“That is part of it, perhaps, the threat of the rebels,” he muses. “Yet they have in their possession a different threat, another side that may give them a tactical advantage should they be allowed to thrive. The Jedi that work amongst them.” He watches Thrass’s expression. How amusing. “You know this much, then. And if you know this much, then surely, there is one you’ve spoken with. And if this is true, surely, they have another, more valuable asset in their hands, your little Ozyly-esehembo. Then, if I find one… I find the other.”
Thrass struggles to his feet, beginning to shout threats he has no way of keeping. “You dare touch her-” But he collapses soon enough, jolts of electricity pulsing through his wrists, traveling to every nerve in his body.
“I have no intention of hurting her,” Thrawn assures as if his brother had not attempted an attack moments prior, kneeling down and tilting his head close. “In fact, I believe she quite loves me. I’ve missed having a navigator on my ship.”
Consider this: Cherry wanting her red tooka doll to look like uncle Maul, so she takes a black pen and tattoos it with it
SKDJAKJDKS AWWWW SHE LOVES UNCLE MAUL-
Ohhhh and when she does this, so happy and excited that she gets to have this little doll that looks just like one of her favourite people, she runs as fast as her little legs will carry her over to where he is, holding up the doll eagerly and shouting his name. For a split second, he thinks something might be wrong, but he sees her sharp little smile, and the way she’s jumping up and down, and he’s relieved.
“Look, look, he looks like you!!!” she all but yells right in front of him as she sticks the plush in his face. And despite how young she is, he has to admit that she did a good job capturing his marks, down to the small ones above his brow.
He… laughs, just a bit, amazed at her work. “Well done, little one,” he smiles in return, tilting the plush around see how far she went. “He looks just like me.”
She takes the plush back, hugging it tightly. “I love Maul Jr.!” she says confidently before running off to show her father.
Thrass vs Maul kinda gives me Phantom of the Opera vibes idk why. And because i’d pick Raoul over Phantom any day, i guess that means i’m going with Thrass on this one
This is… this is interesting… The first time… the only time that I could ever imagine Thrass being chosen…
It’s still an incredibly compelling concept to me, and now that you brought Phantom into the mix 👀 my weakness…
Ugh you’re so right. Someone who promises you the world, up against someone who can only promise himself. Someone who wants to give you everything, versus someone who thinks you already are everything.
Told myself before getting ready to watch it "Yeah, this is gonna be the episode. This one. Right here. Grab the friggin tissues and buckle up." while looking for where my crochet hook teleported to. (The yellow bastard fell between the couch cushions.)
"Hey, kid. Why- why the long face?" Got me. It freaking got me good, just like seeing our favorite captain did.
And the moment they mentioned Bracca I went "Oh like Fallen Order." Out loud. Like louder than just when you talk to yourself. When a family member walked in the kitchen. Now I'm friggin embarrassed and I just-
That episode dude… It was so good but… I’m scared for next week, truly. You know what’s to come. So do I. I don’t know if I can handle it.
May I share something? I write postcards for my girlfriend, mainly incorrect quotes with the OCs we made up together or characters from shows we both watch. They always get decorated with washi-tape and stickers before I send them her way. I just really like doing this. Crafting something silly for your partner and making it a regular thing. That got me thinking. How would the nightbrothers react to an s/o who enjoys crafting and doing other creative stuff that they later gift to them?
YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THIS AND EXPECT ME NOT TO CRY OVER HOW ADORABLE THAT IS ?? HOW DARE YOU COME TO ME WITH SUCH A CUTE CONCEPT ??
…Very well. I shall move forward with the knowledge of what I will never have-
Now Maul will never be able to get enough of this. He loves everything you make, even the smallest, most ridiculous things you can come up with taking a special place in his heart. The small things, he brings with him on trips and missions, little bits of paper, notes, or tiny stars that you’ve folded him reminding him of the smile he has to look forward to when he comes home. The larger things, he either hangs on the walls, or stores in a decorative box, fearing that they might be damaged. He often opens the box, though, taking out and gazing at each object you’ve made him, many of which seem to be slightly related to his own appearance, be it deliberate or subconscious. On even the worst days, these are enough to make him smile, to calm him and make him happier than ever. These beautiful pieces you’ve made, all for him, with him in mind. He loves nothing more, second only to you yourself.
Savage is so incredibly gentle with everything you give him. He knows that he often can’t control his strength, and each project you gift him is treated with more care than he’s ever held anything. He would simply rather die than ruin what you give him. But when you hand it over, he beams with pride and excitement. He had practically been counting the days until you blessed him with something new, and you never ever disappoint. He holds it up, inspecting, reading any writing, and gushes about how beautiful and amazing it is, how talented and uniquely creative you are. The walls of his room are filled with your creations, almost like his own personal gallery, and he can tell you when you gave each one to him down to the day, a real connoisseur of your work. He couldn’t care less about any other art, insisting that it’s all pointless in comparison to what you do, even if it is just a hobby.
Feral would absolutely love to craft alongside you. Granted, he hasn’t much experience in the area, but he believes that it’s a good opportunity to spend time with you. You find tons of little ideas to work through, and they’re perfect to try out on the big crafting table. It gets quite messy, glue and paper strips sticking to him and his fingers, maybe a bit of glitter here and there that you still end up finding on your clothes days later. But he laughs the whole way through, and his eyes are wide and amazed when he sees your finished product, much prettier than his odd-looking one. Nevertheless, he excitedly trades the creations with you, holding to it as a memory of the time you spent together, of the fun you had. He always sets aside hours for this pastime, like an event or date night you often have.
Heyo! It's my birthday today (🎂), and I just want to request some fluffy headcannons for my boy Maul! Thank you~
Oh happy birthday!!!! I’ve definitely got a bunch of those!! Enjoy~
Interestingly enough, I’ve been thinking a lot about the soft moments with him. You know, the ones that come in the mornings that you barely remember because you were still so sleepy, or the ones in the evening when he’s set the world behind him. I think these moments come often enough, realisations of how long you’ve been beside him, how happy you seem at the undeniable fact that you share a bond like no other.
I think he feels that sort of thing through the force, your brightness, the elated way you go about the day, knowing he loves you. He might even feel it in random waves each day, no matter where you may be, and he knows that you’ve caught yourself sinking into your life, into what’s brought you to him. The sudden rush he feels, a swell in his hearts, and an image of you, the wide smile on your face. It’s incredible, he thinks, that you love him so, even when he isn’t there.
And there are definitely times when you want to sit in his lap and simply cling to his neck like there’s no tomorrow, like there’s nothing else in the world you were made to do. But the thing is, his legs aren’t exactly comfortable, being made of metal and all. By now, though, he’s made it a habit that, whenever he sits down, no matter where he is, he’ll bring a pillow to set right on his legs, perfect for you to climb onto whenever you’re in need of his embrace. But… considering the way he holds you, you almost don’t even need it.
Your arms encircle his neck, while he holds at your waist, strong arms supporting and lifting you up from his lap. His head is buried in the crook of your neck, hiding from the rest of the galaxy, protected in the way you love him. He’s never felt so safe in any other position, and likely never will, despite the fact that from the outside looking in, he is the one protecting you.
But no… that’s not it. Physically, perhaps there’s merit to such a belief, but in reality, he is the one protected, saved from the fear of abandonment, loss. Safe from a reality and life that has done nothing but reminded him that he’s worthless. In these moments, none of that is real, none of it haunts him, hurts him. He has you, there, in his arms, your heart pressed so tightly to him that he can feel it more powerfully than he can his own. There is only comfort, only a sense of your love on every single place your body touches his, something he does everything in his power to return just as powerfully through his own hold.
So there’s Thrawn vs Thrass, trying to win over your heart. But how about some odd love triangle combos. Characters that would probably never be near each other, but somehow, some way, they are and you’re caught between them. Like Thrawn vs Tech, or Thrass vs Maul.
Dude DUDE I would SELL MY SOUL TO SEE THRASS VERSUS MAUL
The two most devoted, dependent, needy people I’ve ever written for, up against each other?? Holy hELL we gotta talk about it
I feel like, honestly, truly, this is the one situation where Thrass might become actively belligerent. He looks at Maul, this aggressive, angry, dangerous man, and cannot for the life of him believe that he deserves you. If anything, he might think that Maul has the potential to either hurt you or get you hurt. He attracts enemies, enemies that will play dirty to hurt him. And you very well could end up the victim of such things. What’s more, was he not raised on pure anger, rage and unbridled hatred? Is there not danger associated with that, that he may snap, may direct it towards you? No, Thrass thinks, the Zabrak will put you at risk.
And Maul looks at Thrass. Heh, a politician? Really? He could never protect you, could never hope to keep you safe. Fights aren’t won with debate, they’re won with combat, and he has no experience with such things. He won’t get you killed directly, but his lack of combat ability means he likely will allow it to happen. Politicians are made to lie, to be fake for the sake of the show. Who’s to say that what he’s doing now isn’t the same? Who’s to say that this isn’t all some slight, and that once he gains what he wants from you, he won’t turn away and leave you broken in his wake? No, Maul thinks, that Chiss cannot be trusted.
Who wins? Maul. No question about it. He’s right, being with Thrass would do nothing for you, and Maul’s love is one that puts you in a position of power, a sort of dynamic where no one controls him, no one except you. He would give you the world, as well as his life if it ever came down to it. With that sort of love, Thrass is quite easy to forget about, don’t you agree?
We’ve discussed how Thrass is…very vanilla and how the only borderline kinks he has are overstimulation and being dominated, right?
But I think he’d also be into cockwarming.
Not in a dominant way but more wanting to be connected to you and savor the intimacy.
Yesssss I love this so muuuuuuch
I daresay that this falls into a sort of vanilla subcategory, simply because of the way he does and views it.
It’s slow when you lower onto him, just the way he likes it, watching as you get yourself adjusted, using every bit of willpower you have not to move the way you so desperately want to. But he loves this feeling, this connection, this moment where neither of you could possibly be any closer to the other. And even though he also has that small sense and desire to let you move, to give you the pleasure you want so badly and hear your beautiful voice as you moan for him, he waits.
You’ve done this before, it’s true, but he can’t get enough of it, doesn’t want to waste even a single moment of being one with you. You whimper on him, your unfulfilled desires tugging at you still. And he kisses you, softly, carefully, as if he were in danger of hurting you, a hand at your hip and another on your cheek. And of course, he tells you he loves you, over and over again, until that’s the only thing you know to be true.
Not to throw some angst in here, but what would make the nightbrother’s want to break up with you?
Well, you can pretty quickly get rid of Maul if you start being like, actively mean to him. Tell him he’s worthless, that all of his suffering is his fault and no one else’s. Tell him he’s weak, that he lost so much because he was never strong enough to fight, to be a real sith. Tell him he’s a failure, that he’s nothing compared to those he’s fought, that Sidious was right to replace him.
If you want to get rid of Savage, talk bad about his family, especially Feral. Mention that Maul has no right to rule, or that Feral died as a result of his own weakness and refusal to fight back. Savage would never allow you to say such things, would never stand for such offenses
Now, Feral is a bit trickier. You insult him in such ways, and he’ll shut down, not having it in himself to drop you, hate his family, and he’ll still hold on to some sort of hope that he can change your mind. But if you want to be rid of him, brush him off entirely. Let him try and try with everything he has to connect with you, gifts you don’t acknowledge, touches you move away from, compliments and words of love you never respond to. It will take time, but he’ll snap eventually, saying tightly and with tears in his eyes, “I can’t do this anymore,” before he leaves you behind entirely.
Ar’alani is definitely the type of person to just drape herself over her partner (especially if they’re shorter than her).
It’s one of the signals that she’s either exhausted or in a playful mood.
End of the day, you’re finishing up reports, she appears almost out of nowhere and wraps her arms around your shoulders before leaning on you? Tired as all hell, please give her attention and draw her a warm bath or something.
Middle of the day, she catches you alone and you feel her arms around your waist before she just drops her weight in you. Cue startled laughs and a quick stagger to regain your balance.
Or you’re in your quarters reading or something and she’ll just come over and drape herself across your lap.
Am I projecting because this is how I show affection? Mayhaps.
No this is 100% accurate, can attest to it, yes
I also see like, when she does this with her arms around your shoulders, she hums a little as if she’s semi-whining. And you keep doing what you’re working on, trying to get everything finished as fast as possible, and she does not like being ignored. So she begins to kiss your neck and do everything in her power to distract you. Draw her a warm bath, you say? Well, that sounds good and all, but she would much prefer it if you joined her.
What do the nightbrothers want to achieve in their life with their s/o?
Maul just… wants to be loved. That’s… that’s it. I don’t think he’s ever seen it as a place for achieving anything else. He doesn’t set many goals such as number of children or a place to be for the future. The future will come, but there are many unknowns. He wants simply for you to love him, to want him and care for his well-being the same way he does for you. For him, that’s enough.
Savage is much the same. And he wants to be your protector, the one you seek out when you’re in need, the one you can rely on no matter what to be there and keep you safe. He wants to be someone that you will never fear or back away from, someone that loves you and proves it every day.
But Feral wants stability. He wants to take you far away from where he was, to find a home for you, where you can be comfortable and happy with him. He imagines the small house that he can bring you to, the sorts of flowers he’d like to grow around it, the food he can cook and fill the house with sweet and savory smells all throughout the day. He wants to build a real life with you, away from his past and his fears, start over and have something truly his own.
I’m inclined to say Ar’alani would win in the end just because she’s more straightforward and strong willed overall but Thrass is probably not going to be as willing to back down unless you show immediate preference for one of them.
What are your thoughts?
My thoughts are that Thrass still wins me, because Ar'alani would not want me once she figures out who my personality matches
But this… this… Sass Triangle
You’re right though, there’s no way in goddamn hell anyone would choose Thrass over Ar'alani, and I think deep down, he knows that. Buuuuuut he’s not going to let up. Ziara’s, by now, used to people putting her on a pedestal, people looking up to her and doing as she says, so much so that Thrass wonders if in this instance alone, she’s gotten cocky. Perhaps there’s still a way, some possibility that she sees more in your responses to her than there actually are, perhaps… perhaps he stands a chance.
Of course, he doesn’t, just as always.
She’s too compelling, too strong-willed, too sure of herself. By all accounts, she’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. Thrass is none of these things, could never in a million years live up to the talent and incredible personality she’s set before you.
Hell, I dare say that the decision is made even quicker here, for who would you rather have? The distant, yet fragile syndic? Or the commanding, powerful, doting admiral? Please, the answer was given the moment the question was asked.
Thrass with an s/I who's uncomfortable with expensive gifts?
Ohohoh, my friend, not to worry
See, with Thrass, even though he enjoys buying the Big Things every so often, he doesn’t rely on it, by any means.
More so, he’s the type that takes every effort to know you better than he even knows himself. His gifts are very much you, personal, thoughtful, small things that he knows will put a smile on your face. He may opt for consumables, cake mixes with crazy flavours the two of you can experiment with together, powders and spices from far off planets that neither of you have heard of, but probably glow under a black light. Or maybe he’ll write you a song, the keys and notes that remind him most of you weaving together to tell your story, all of which costs him nothing.
He could bring you the simplest of flower crowns made from the ones that grow along the path of your favourite trail, or a small trip to a beach or town you love most of all, where you can dig through sand and discover the fossils of creatures long gone, or find small restaurants that rarely anyone knows about that serve better food than any gourmet kitchen you’ve ever been to.
He doesn’t need to spend a lot of money, because he knows well that such things don’t automatically make you happy. He knows you better than that.